


Leading Us Home

by whenindoubtsmile



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenindoubtsmile/pseuds/whenindoubtsmile
Summary: Selina has a motto: "You can't have a home if you don't have a house."
Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 65





	Leading Us Home

**Author's Note:**

> In an absolutely miraculous and never-to-be-seen-again series of events, inspiration struck twice in the course of 24 hours, so you get another Batcat story adapted from a Taylor Swift song and thousands of words in various chats about the meaning of home to Selina.

Selina, at her most basic, core self, has a pretty major issue with the word ‘home’. Like most important (but sad) ideas that become fundamental to understanding an individual, it’s an issue that started when she was a child. Selina remembers being six, maybe seven, the first time she got caught by the police. The officer was a large man who clearly was more interested in the baseball game going on in the background than Selina or the fact that she was so malnourished that you could count all her ribs if you bothered to give her more than a cursory glance. She can still see him bending down to look her in the eye, completely ignoring the bruises and cuts that covered every inch of her skin, and asking her where home was. 

Even at the tender age of six or seven, Selina was smart enough to recognize that as a stupid question. So she gave it all the weight it deserved and simply shrugged before replying, “You ain’t got no home if you ain’t got no house.” 

It’s a phrase that even now, at age 32, Selina Kyle stands by. 

******************************************************************************

When Selina was about 20, her mother sent her a letter. In it were far too many paragraphs where she apologized profusely for any of her words to feel even the slightest bit sincere. She would have happily burned the letter without a second thought if not for the picture included. In the partially ripped, incredibly stained photo stood a young Maria, eyes with bags beneath them, standing in front of a dilapidated brownstone with a tiny infant in her arms. The letter explained that the one-bedroom apartment had been home to Maria, Selina, and the unnamed photographer for the first year or so of Selina’s life. The address, Maria wrote, was 416 Lily Dr. and she hoped that maybe knowing where Selina had come would somehow help her know where she was going. The idea was, of course, completely stupid, because that building might have been where she learned to walk and say her first word and smiled for the first time, but the only record of those things were Maria’s memories and Selina was past the point of harboring any dreams that her mother would one day come back to share those distant memories with her daughter. 

After all, you don’t have a home if all that’s left is a pitiful photo and an address for a house.

******************************************************************************

St. Maria’s orphanage ended up being “home” for Selina until she was about 10 and had realized that sleeping underneath the bridge with a ratty blanket was better than sharing a twin bed with two other girls and having to dress up once a week to see if someone wanted to try and adopt her. (The nuns always described her as a free spirit, but everyone seemed to know that the term simply meant that Selina would never sit still long enough to make herself at home and would instead leave with a backpack full of your food and whatever she could snag from your wallet.) All in all, the orphanage wasn’t the worst place ever and she got off relatively easily in comparison to some of the other abandoned children she knew, but it also could never be mistaken for a home. Everything about the place, from the mismatched floor tiles to the peeling wallpaper that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to stay on the walls or accept it’s death, screamed of impermanence. Nothing and no one in the building wanted to stay. The girls wanted to go to families. The nuns wanted to go to mass. The hopes and dreams of everyone within wanted to go to people who could actually have a shot at realizing them. 

To be fair to the nuns and the orphanage and the dying wallpaper, it wasn’t their fault. Everyone knows you can’t make a home out of a place meant for escaping.

******************************************************************************

Selina was 13 when someone once again tried to give her an address to stay at. By 13 she was pretty certain homes and houses were meant for people with bank accounts and three meals a day and that she’d have to be content with squats and crash pads and surprisingly large cardboard boxes along the pier. She wasn’t particularly bitter about this information as much as she was ready for everyone to stop trying to prove her wrong. 

But, sadly for her, Jim Gordon was the type of person who was incredibly determined to convince Selina that she was wrong so he arranged for her to stay with Bruce Wayne while the rookie cop attempted to track down the false leads she had given him. Even now, decades later, Selina can hear the creak of the large doors echoing as the butler opened the front door and welcomed Selina inside for the first time. By age 13 Selina felt quite confident that she had seen the best Gotham had to offer, but this mansion was something else entirely. It was the kind of place that could house every homeless kid she spoke to in a month and have none of them ever run into each other. She could have survived her entire life off of stealing the small, but priceless trinkets within the mansion. No one would even have noticed and she would have maybe been able to afford a nice sleeping bag. 

Selina had wandered into the foyer as the adult men talked in the entryway. It was a strange place, the Wayne Manor, it seemed torn between proving that it belonged to the great and noble Wayne family and desperately attempting to convince you that you were safe and loved and understood by the people who lived within its walls. Everywhere there were signs of wealth, but there were also signs of someone, maybe the mother, working to make the manor a home. There were family photos, not portraits, on various walls, board games, so many records and record players that Selina stopped counting at 16, all of which seemed meant to serve only to encourage visitors to ignore the empty chill of the enormous rooms. 

Selina, with all the wisdom of a 13-year-old who was tired of fake displays of love already, simply rolled her eyes and headed up the stairs to investigate a very nice blue and white vase. Didn’t the manor’s decorator know that a manor isn’t a house and you can’t have a home without a house?

******************************************************************************

By age 17, Selina Kyle knew the Wayne Manor better than anyone else. Alfred would have, and did, argue with her about this particular statement, but she refused to relinquish the title. After all, he had arranged for the security system and he didn’t know if half as well as Selina did. (At the beginning of this years-long argument, Bruce had foolishly suggested that perhaps he was the one who knew the mansion best, which prompted Selina to throw her spaghetti bolognese at him while Alfred pretended to not notice; Bruce had quickly withdrawn his name from the competition.) Selina certainly didn’t live at the manor, but there was always the same room made up for her and ready should she ever decide to stop by. The room was nice and Bruce had even put a small stuffed cat on the bed sometime when she was 14, but it was not the room she spent the most time in. Instead, the little, informal kitchen and dining room was the spot in the manor that most captured her heart. She knew that room perhaps better than anywhere else in the world. She knew that the fourth wood plank from the door creaked and had memorized exactly how to walk to not make any noise. She knew that the bush of cornelias underneath the window by the sink smelled best during the summer rainstorms and that if you only opened the window a few inches you could enjoy the smell without letting any rain into the room. Looking back, she blessed every one of the moments she spent in that room with the rain gently tapping on the roof and the smell of the flowers filling the kitchen. (One time Bruce had bought her a cornelia flower perfume and the poor boy was baffled to discover that she refused to wear it when it wasn’t raining out.) 

It was exactly one of these rainy afternoons when Selina realized that perhaps she was too close to the manor and its inhabitants. She had snuck in earlier than morning and helped herself to a sandwich before settling in in the kitchen. She knew Bruce and Alfred would be out and had been excited to see their faces when they returned to find an extra, unexpected person in the house. However, when they returned with bags full of groceries, they greeted Selina like she had been there the whole time and simply declined the offer to go grocery shopping, not as if she had broken in. Bruce had assured her that they had remembered to get her the pomegranate juice and granola bars she liked since she had run out last week and Alfred had reminded her that the sweater she had left there a couple days ago was at the dry cleaners and should be ready to be picked up later this afternoon if she would be so kind as to grab it the next time she went into the city. And then, with a sense of horror washing over her, Selina realized she knew exactly where to put all the items in the grocery bag she’d been handed to unload. So, she raced to put the asparagus in its drawer, the lightbulbs in the mudroom off to the left of the dining room, and the cinnamon in its proper place in the spice rack, before dashing off to grab the imaginary book that she had supposedly left in her room. 

Selina’s heart seemed about to beat out of her chest as she looked around the room (her room?) at the drawers that had her clothes and her bathroom full of the combs and products that kept her hair manageable and the little gifts and trinkets spread over the shelves from birthdays and Christmases and apologies for running off to the stupid chalet in Switzerland. It just couldn’t do. She was a street kid, a cat, not someone who could be tied down to a room with a bed and curtains and her favorite foods and her absolute favorite people. So that night she packed everything she could into her little backpack and ran away.

Because who was she kidding? A girl like her could never have a home in a house like that.

******************************************************************************

Bruce crashes with her for a week during the year the bridges were blown. She can’t remember why, but vaguely thinks it might have been because of her incident with the scalpel. He probably passed it off as giving Alfred space or helping make sure nothing went wrong with the root that was healing her spine, but she remembers a distinct sense that Bruce was waiting for her to collapse into a ball and die at any moment. And that feeling got really old, really fast. In a city like Gotham, especially during that year, oftentimes the safest places were rooftops, so Selina had snuck out of her room late one September evening and climbed onto the roof. She had sat there for no longer than 20 minutes when Bruce emerged from her window. The autumn night was mostly warm, but the wind would pick up every so often and send a chill through her body. He hadn’t been out on the roof for more than a minute or so before he slipped his jacket around her shoulders. The gesture caught her off-guard for a moment, but the past few months of her life had been nightmarish and every night felt so unreal that she chose to ignore the voices in her head screaming for her to move away because sharing your heart with someone means letting them choose if they protect it of if they break it and settled in beside the young man next to her. 

Selina was young and still didn’t have a house, but maybe houses were overrated and the right person was all that was required to make a home.

******************************************************************************  
Bruce leaves a few months later and it feels like he’s finally revealed that this was simply a years-long con and she had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. The manor was gone and Alfred didn’t know how to react around her and Jim was busy and Barbara had a baby and everyone seemed to think that she must know how to get ahold of Bruce because no one who really loved someone would leave without a good-bye. 

But he did.

He left without a good-bye and instead let a note that spoke of home and how she would always matter to him and have a place in his soul break her heart for him. But, she told herself, it was fine. After all, Wayne Manor was blown to smithereens and you ain’t got no home if you ain’t got no house so it didn’t matter that the person who had made her feel at home had left without saying good-bye..

******************************************************************************

The manor was rebuilt by the time Selina was 20. She and Alfred had worked hard to make it as close to the original as possible. The only purposeful difference were the carpets in the study because neither could muster the strength to buy ones identical to the carpet that Selina had nearly bled out on. She spent a grand total for four days in the new manor before running away. 

Alfred may have been determined that this new house could be a home, but Selina knew it just wasn’t going to be the case. 

******************************************************************************

The first apartment she rents legally is with her paycheck from the Martha Wayne Foundation. She had successfully bid for a small position helping to plan events for the Foundation and while she suspects that the job was given to her solely because no one wanted to figure out if denying Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend a job in his mother’s charity would be what it took to bring him back from wherever he was off hiding, she didn’t push it. Regardless of the reason for her getting the job, Selina loved the work and loved the status and the apartment that she got as a result of her work. It had been maybe a year after Gotham was reunited with the mainland that Selina had realized that the only way she was going to be able to get the kind of scores and respect she so desperately craved from Gotham’s underworld was if she could make a space for herself in the city’s ruling class. After all, Barbara had been a socialite and Lee had married a Falcone and been respected by the entire GCPD. If Selina was going to get a fraction of the power either of them had had, she was going to need to insert herself into the kind of life Bruce had led. So that’s what she did.

The apartment felt like proof that she could fake her way into a richer world. Gone were the days of squats and sleeping in a different bed every night. Now her apartment was painted a deep purple and had fresh flowers at all times (cornelias because the smell still made her happier than anything else) and a closet full of dresses for galas and cocktail parties and dates with men who got more money from their trust funds in a month than she had ever touched in her life. Was it home? If you had asked Selina that, she would have scoffed at you and rolled her eyes. 

After all, you can have the nicest house in the world, but if you’re faking belonging there, it will never be a home.

******************************************************************************

The party was barely even starting when Bruce Wayne left and asked the valet to bring him his car. He’d only been back in Gotham for six months and parties felt even more tedious and ridiculous now than they had before he’d left for a decade. Besides, Selina had been there and he still wasn’t certain where they stood (if you had asked him where Batman and Catwoman stood in relation to each other he probably would have been able to give a more concrete answer, but even that was a big ‘probably’). So of course he should have been expecting her to be in the passenger seat of his car when he slid into it. And of course he should have been expecting to hear her soft voice casually whisper that she rents a place on Rose Avenue if he wanted to check it out. 

She doesn’t give him a chance to decline her offer and he barely manages to mind since he couldn’t have turned her down anyway. Later, after he’s explored the apartment and they’ve explored each other and refused to even consider exploring what their relationship might be like in this new reality, he asks her if she likes her new home. 

Selina scoffs in that way that he knows means he shouldn’t have bothered asking such a stupid question in the first place. “Bruce one day you’ll have to learn, just ‘cause someone has a house doesn’t mean they’ve got a home.”

******************************************************************************

After the wedding reception, Bruce grabs his bride’s hand and walks her back to the mansion’s entrance, the one that they’ve been through more times than either could count. Selina couldn’t shake the feeling that walking through those grand front doors should feel different now that she was the Mrs. Wayne who would be working so hard to make the mansion feel like a home, but she didn’t. She had run through those doors as a tiny 13-year-old fleeing for her life. She had climbed through every window in the estate as a 15-year-old unsure of the new relationship unfolding before her. She had wept where the kitchen had once been as a 19-year-old who didn’t know if she was crying for the building that was gone or for the man who had left her to try and rebuild her life on her own. She had helped pick the carpets and wallpaper and artwork that still remained in the manor as a tentative 22-year-old. She had cursed and railed against the world in the east gardens as a 25-year-old learning that the Martha Wayne Foundation would lose 20% of its funding because Wayne Corporation felt it didn’t generate enough good press to deserve the money it had previously received. She had brainstormed with Bruce on the stairs of the foyer as they tried to figure out how to bring peace to their city after another attack from Jerimaiah Valeska as a 29-year-old trying to bond with her childhood friend again. She had snuck barefoot through the kitchen last night when she gave in and accepted she was too excited for her wedding to get any sleep. She had lived so much life in this giant manor that she had once thought could never hold love and peace and happiness in its vast rooms. And the new last name she had claimed didn’t make her any different from the teen who had pushed all the furniture out of the study to dance the the late Waynes’ records with their son. Her whole life, the religion that kept her going on the darkest days, all of it was built into this place. 

Bruce insists on carrying her over the threshold because the man is still as much of a sentimentalist as he was when he was a kid who brought her a snowglobe from Switzerland. As he sets her down, he looks her in the eyes and smiles, “Welcome home, Mrs. Wayne.”

Selina, despite her efforts, can’t keep back a laugh at his endearing sincerity. “You know, Mr. Wayne, I used to say that you can’t have a home without a house, but, after thinking about it again, I think a mansion can indeed count as a house.”

“So, you’ll call this home?”

“I think that may just be something I can agree to.”


End file.
